Bringing Home a Bachelor (5 page)

6

P
ETE
DIDN
’
T
KNOW
what to think of Melinda at this point. In the space of a few hours, she’d gone from vulnerable woman to bold seductress, then from shy, self-conscious schoolgirl to passionate lover. And finally from remarkable gymnast—he didn’t think he’d have the guts to climb from one balcony to another on an eighth story—to crazed coward.

She’d bolted from his room like a horse out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. Whether she was mortified or petrified, he didn’t know. Maybe somewhere in between the two. But she’d used his comb to attack her hair—without stellar results—and scrubbed at her smudged makeup with a washcloth.

Then she’d abruptly said, “Gotta go!” And one turn of the knob and slam of the door later, she’d vanished.

Pete shrugged it off and climbed into the shower, but he couldn’t forget the sight of her face, flushed and beautiful, as he’d entered her…and he’d never, as long as he drew breath, forget those breasts.

He soaped up and rinsed off, bemused to find himself hard again as he toweled dry. He wanted to see her again, no matter how awkward things might get with Mark. He would see her again.

As he put his tuxedo pants back on, a second knock came at his door. What the…? It was Grand Central Station around here tonight. Mel must have forgotten something. Pete opened the door, ready to tease her, ready to kiss her again.

His boss stood there.

“Peter?”

“Mr. Reynaldo!” What in the hell was the man doing here on a Saturday night?

Rafael Reynaldo was in his late fifties, a man of impeccable grooming and great charm. He wore a French-blue tailored shirt and a charcoal-gray suit that complemented the salt-and-pepper of his hair and neat mustache. One of his dark eyebrows rose as he took in Pete’s shirtless, barefoot state. “Are you not attending the Kirschoff/Edgeworth reception downstairs, Peter?”

“I—I—I can explain, sir. A guest knocked a cup of coffee down the front of my shirt, and…”

Reynaldo took in the rumpled bed, the champagne bottle and the two glasses, just as Mark had. “I see.” Then he glanced at Pete’s white tuxedo shirt, which lay on the floor next to the nightstand. The not-stained-with-coffee tuxedo shirt. And his nostrils flared as he undoubtedly caught the scent of sex.

“You do not need to lie to me, Peter,” he said.

Fire burned its way up Pete’s face. This was so definitely not the path to a vice presidency at Playa Bella, Inc. It was more the path to the unemployment office. “Sir, I’m sorry. I—I was…unexpectedly sidelined…and I’m on my way back downstairs right now.”

“Was she pretty?” The ghost of a smirk played at the corner of Reynaldo’s mouth.

Pete opened, then closed his own mouth. “Yes, very,” he croaked at last.

“You practice safe sex, eh?” Now the smirk emerged full force.

Would the floor please open up and swallow him whole? Or could a lightning bolt strike him instantaneously? “Of, of course. The safest.”

Reynaldo nodded. “Well, then. I do suggest a shirt and some shoes before you rejoin our guests.”

“Right.” Pete swallowed convulsively and tried to ignore the perspiration rolling from his neck down to the small of his back. “Ha, ha!”

“Ha, ha, ha!” Reynaldo squinted at him with friendly malice.

“So. Was there something that you needed, sir?”

“Yes, Peter. Respect. And a grain of intelligence, as well. There are security cameras in Playa Bella. And your key card is electronically trackable, you know. So I suggest that in the future, you are careful about when you engage in, shall we say…recreational activities.”

Pete knew he’d screwed up, but did the guy have to keep rubbing his nose in the wet spot? He looked at the floor.

“Sir, I will point out that I am technically not working this evening—I am a guest at the reception—but would you like my resignation?” His stomach lurched. How the hell would he find another decent job in this economy?

Reynaldo snorted. “No, Peter, I would not. I have hired hundreds, if not thousands of staff over the years, and believe you me, my boy, I’ve seen much, much worse here in Miami.” He winked. “Besides, you should be in the dirty movies with your slick moves, eh?”

The back of Pete’s neck prickled, all the tiny hairs there rising. He scanned the room for some kind of hidden camera, but saw nothing. Still he felt like throwing up. Had Reynaldo or security somehow filmed him with Melinda? Horrible visions of the two of them airing on YouTube filled his mind.

And then grisly images of Mark, tearing him apart and feeding him his extremities.

Reynaldo’s mocking laugh filled his ears. “I am joking. No, you were not on camera.”

His knees weak, Pete let the air slowly out of his lungs.

“How do they say it on that TV show, Peter? That you have been ‘punked’? Is that it?”

He produced a weak answering laugh. “Yes, that’s what they say.” He wiped his brow. “You got me, sir.”

“Yes, Peter, I did.” That mocking laugh came again. “You may have got some, but I got you. I learn the American slang, eh? Is good?”

Pete forced himself to chuckle and nod. After all, he couldn’t exactly tell his boss to go to hell, now could he?

7

M
ELINDA
TOOK
THE
service stairs down the three flights to her room, just to make sure she didn’t run into anyone she knew. She made the mistake of touching her hair again, and it felt like insulation material rolled in tar.

What she wanted and needed was a nice, hot, relaxing bath—and possibly a lobotomy. That way she wouldn’t obsess about Pete, her forwardness with him, whether or not he would call her, and whether or not she wanted him to.

She fumbled her key card out of her evening bag and soon she was inside her own hotel room. She kicked off her shoes, wriggled out of her dress and padded barefoot into the bathroom, where she plugged the drain of the tub and started the hot water. Playa Bella had thoughtfully provided shampoo, bath oil and conditioner to their guests, and she wished she had two of the little bottles of shampoo.

Within minutes, she was sprawled naked in a hot bath and soaking her head—a good thing. The half a can of spray in her hair went from being sticky when dry to being gooey and slimy when wet. Yuck. She sat up and dumped shampoo into her hand, then attacked her scalp. Once she’d rinsed and repeated, she began to feel better.

Mel drained the tub and refilled it with clean water. She added the entire bottle of bath oil, then lay back again and relaxed, emptying her mind of all criticism, all business worries and all of her secret angst about never getting married, dying alone and being eaten by her little dog.

She was slipping peacefully into a warm, mellow, Zen state when someone knocked on her door.

“Melinda?” called her mother’s voice.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Mel prayed that she’d just go away. No such luck.

“Honey?”

“What?” she hollered rudely.

“Are you all right?”

I was before you came along to annoy me.
Aloud, she said, “I’m fine, Mom.”

“May I come in for a moment?”

“Just a minute.” Her peace destroyed, Melinda got to her feet, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped herself in a terry robe. She sighed, belted it and swaddled her dripping hair in a towel. Then she went to the door and opened it.

Her aging Barbie of a mother stood there, clearly concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“Huh?” Melinda had forgotten the lie about stomach troubles she’d told. “Oh…I’m fine now, thank you. I took some antacids.”

“Mark said he knocked on your door earlier but there was no answer.”

“I was sleeping.”

Jocelyn stood there awkwardly for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to say. But that was impossible, because she was a social butterfly and in charge of one of the big Miami charity leagues. She always knew the right thing to say. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks.”

“Sweetheart, we don’t see much of you lately. Your father and I wish you’d come by the house more often.”

Maybe I would, if you didn’t constantly drop hints about my weight and serve me cucumber rounds and water with lemon in it.
Mel sighed.

“I know you’re busy, though.” Her mother still stood uncomfortably near the door.

Melinda felt guilty, as usual. Her mother had the ability to make her feel either guilty or furious within two seconds flat. “Mom, what? What’s on your mind? Come in and sit down.”

Jocelyn brightened immediately at the invitation, and Mel told herself she should be nicer to her. She should have more respect.

“I noticed that Pete took you some champagne while you were out walking on the beach. Wasn’t that nice?”

Uh-oh. “Yes, it was very sweet of him.”
Did you also notice that I’d already swiped an entire bottle?
Mel braced herself for a lecture.

“He’s grown into quite a good-looking boy. Man, I should say…although it sounds ridiculous when I realize that I’ve known him since he was twelve or thirteen years old.” Jocelyn laughed, the sound genteel and controlled. Had her mother ever let loose with a wild donkey laugh? One of genuine amusement?

“Don’t you think he’s good-looking?” she pressed Mel.

“Sure, I guess. I hadn’t really noticed.” Oh, God.
Please, please, please don’t tell me that my mother watched me put my hand in his pants!

“Well, he seemed quite taken with you.”

“No…I’m sure he was just being polite. He’s Mr. Customer Service, Mom. He works here.”

“He does have lovely manners, doesn’t he?”

Mel squirmed, thinking of the things she’d just done naked with Pete.

“Doesn’t he?” Jocelyn was eyeing her strangely.

“What? Oh. Yes. Great manners.” Maybe he’d send her a thank-you note.

“I heard that he’s no longer seeing his girlfriend, so he’s single. How about that?”

Mel shrugged.

“You should make an effort to talk to him tomorrow at the wedding breakfast, Melinda. Did you avoid salt tonight? Did you bring a skirt in a dark color?”

“Mom, please…” Mel sat heavily on the bed and dragged her hands down her face.

“Single men with good career prospects don’t grow on trees, honey. College is a few years behind you, and you don’t belong to many organizations where you might meet—”

“Stop!”

“—someone to settle down with. You don’t belong to a gym…”

Where I could grab guys, pin them to the floor and make them smell my sweaty armpits?

“…or a church…”

Where I could trip them on their way down the aisle to the offering plate?

“…or an online dating service…”

As if I have the time.

“Mom,” Melinda begged, “please stop! You’re being hurtful, okay?”

Her mother sat on the bed with her, of all things, and tried to take her hands in hers. Mel stuffed them in the pockets of the hotel robe and glared at her.

Jocelyn smoothed her blonde hair back from her face. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you, sweetheart.”

“Well, you’re making me crazy instead!”

Her mother’s eyebrows drew together. “Someone has to say these things to you. And since I am your mother, I get the pleasure.”

“It is a pleasure to you, isn’t it?” Mel’s voice had risen, but she couldn’t help it.

“That’s not true.”

“I think it is. You just can’t stand me not being a carbon copy of you. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I want to meet someone who loves me for who I am, not what I look like? Has it ever—”

Jocelyn’s expression was pitying. “That’s a nice notion, honey, but it’s a fairy tale.”

“Is it? Let me ask you a question. Are you so insecure in Dad’s love that you can’t let yourself gain a single pound for fear that he might dump you?”

Her mother froze, shock like ice in her eyes. The color drained from her face and then her nostrils flared. “How dare you say that to me?”

Mel was shaking now, but she refused to back down. “How dare you say the things to me that you do?”

Jocelyn stood abruptly, and then walked to the door on her spindly legs. “You’re impossible.”

“
I’m
impossible?”

“You’re also rude, ungrateful and disrespectful. And if you refuse to change your attitude and your weight, you’ll stay single for the rest of your life.”

The words knocked the breath from Melinda for a moment. Then a flash of rage ignited her temper, and that triggered her mouth. “Is that right? Well, it may just interest you, then, that
I’ve had sex
tonight, with the very guy you wanted me to throw myself at!
And you know what? He didn’t have any complaints about my body.”

Her mother didn’t look quite so elegant with her jaw dropped open. Melinda had a moment or two of great satisfaction before Jocelyn snapped it shut again.

“Of course he didn’t complain,” she said scornfully. “You were easy and available. I’ll bet he told you that you were beautiful, didn’t he? And you took your dress right off for him.” She shook her head as she opened the door and stalked through it. “You let yourself be used, Melinda. And I thought I’d brought my daughter up better than that.”

The words were pure cruelty, aimed with perfect precision, and they hit their mark. Mel crumpled to the floor as the door closed, her pain so acute that she couldn’t even cry.

Her body trembled uncontrollably, and she wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to calm down. But the taunts reverberated in her head.

I’ll bet he told you that you were beautiful, didn’t he? And you took your dress right off for him.

Her mother was a horrible woman sometimes. But she was also right. He had told her that.
Let me look, Mel. I think you’re gorgeous.

She writhed now in shame. And worse, despite the shame, his words still sent a sexual frisson through her. So did the memory of his fascination with her body…and his mouth.

Mel somehow found the strength to crawl into the bed and pull the covers over herself, bathrobe, hair towel and all. She wasn’t going to move from this spot until checkout time tomorrow.

Because one thing was for sure: she would not attend the wedding breakfast. She’d never, ever see Pete again, not voluntarily, anyway.

* * *

F
ULLY
DRESSED
IN
HIS
tuxedo again within five minutes, Pete headed downstairs in record time. He slipped back into Ballroom C, where the reception was winding down now—Mark and Kendra had evidently left.

He made sure everyone who wanted a last drink got one before the bar closed, and saw to it that the tables all got bused. He poured some seriously inebriated guests into a couple of taxis, and even escorted Mark’s slightly tipsy Aunt Mildred to her room on the third floor.

He shoveled some last late-night partiers into the Starlight Bar and Lounge, Playa Bella’s own nightclub, and kept an eye out for Melinda, but didn’t see her. The person he kept seeing instead was Melinda’s and Mark’s mother, Jocelyn. And for some reason she was glowering at him, though her husband Richard was just as affable as always.

Pete spent a few minutes with the bride’s parents to make sure they were happy with everything and had no questions about the final bill. Then he walked over to say good-night to the Edgeworths.

He’d eaten countless oatmeal-raisin cookies in Jocelyn’s kitchen as a kid, and she’d been very warm to him at the beginning of the evening, so he couldn’t account for the arctic chill in her voice now, unless…

“Mark and Kendra looked so happy,” he said, placing a hand on Jocelyn’s shoulder. “Didn’t they?”

“Yes.” She sidestepped quickly, shrugging him off, while Richard didn’t seem to notice.

Had Melinda told her mother what she and Pete had done? No…why would she have? It wasn’t the kind of thing a girl discussed with her mom over coffee. Or was it?

“You and your staff here at the hotel did a fine job,” said Richard genially. “Very nice party. Thank you.”

Pete shrugged modestly. “Kendra and her mother planned it down to the last detail. So it was easy for us. But I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves.”

“As did you,” Jocelyn said acidly.

Pete froze. Then he lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, it was great to see everyone after all these years.”

Melinda had definitely said something to her mother, damn it. But why? And how much had she told her? He could feel heat rising up his neck and into his face, for the second time that evening.

“How’s the old neighborhood?” he asked, looking for a safe topic of conversation.

“Fine,” Jocelyn said, avoiding his gaze and hunting for something in her purse.

“Oh, nothing much has changed, except for a few more burglar bars and alarms,” Richard mused. “Crime’s even crept into Coral Gables, you know. Some of the incidents are pretty brazen. Our neighbors the Sanchezs had their front door kicked down, clean off its hinges. But their alarm went off, so whoever it was skedaddled before any other harm was done.”

Richard was that kind of harmless guy who’d use the term
skedaddled
. Pete wished there were more of them left in the world.

“D’you know the Sanchez family, Pete?”

He shook his head. “They must have moved in after I left for college.”

“Mmm. That’s right, you headed down to Texas and got yourself some southern manners along with that BA in business.” Richard winked.

Jocelyn, who’d been applying powder to her nose, snapped shut her compact with a little more force than necessary. “He learned how to sweet-talk women, didn’t you, Peter?”

O-kaaaay. Pete chuckled mildly. “Well, I don’t know about that, Mrs. E. I haven’t been all that lucky in the babe department lately.”

She shot him the lipless smile of a cobra. “That’s not what I hear.”

Richard’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “Jocelyn,” he said in reproving tones.

Oh, hell. Did Melinda’s father know, too? No, he just looked puzzled by his wife’s hostility. Pete hoped that she wouldn’t explain anything to him. He felt awkward enough as it was.

“So!” He clapped Richard on the shoulder. “Are you staying at Playa Bella tonight, or driving home?”

“We’re driving home. But we’ll see you bright and early at the wedding breakfast tomorrow.” Jocelyn really had the cobra thing down: she managed to move her head forward and then back while making the barest shimmy with her shoulders. It shouldn’t have been menacing, especially not on a five-four blonde, but it sent a clear warning signal down Pete’s spine.

“Great,” he said jovially. “You know we’ll do it up right. Playa Bella is famous for our mimosas, and the French toast is unrivaled. Now, do you have your valet ticket? I’ll walk you out.”

“Ah. Very nice of you, Pete.” Richard preempted his wife, who’d opened her mouth to refuse the offer. He fished around in his jacket pockets for the ticket.

Pete would have sworn he saw just the tip of a black, forked tongue flicker out of Jocelyn’s mouth, and blinked. Had he gotten some bad fish?

“Here we are!” Richard produced the wayward valet ticket and handed it over. They all made their way out to the marble foyer. One of the doormen opened a fifteen-foot-high entrance door upon sight of them, and Pete cast a glance heavenward in thanks that he was about to escape from Melinda’s mother.